


Change

by unsettled



Category: Alice in Wonderland (2010)
Genre: Other, PWP, Threesomes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-20
Updated: 2010-06-20
Packaged: 2017-10-10 04:53:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/95701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chessur darts in for his own taste of Tarrant. It's anise and ginger and madness, and he can still taste the traces of Ilosovic's smoke and grass and danger lingering behind Tarrant's teeth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Change

**Author's Note:**

> morphineloverxx said, "we know Chessur can take human form," and of course, this is where my brain went.

Ilosovic's hands are cool against his skin, and his mouth is hot and needy, and he thinks, on some level that isn't overcome with physical want, _so this is how it feels_. He brings a hand up to slide across the angles of Ilosovic's face, who glances up. Glances up, then glances up more, eyes caught, eyes widening, and he thinks he's missed something. He turns, and oh, how could he have missed that?

"Well," says Tarrant, lounging in the doorway. "I realize I'm mad, but I don't think I'm quite that mad yet."

Ilosovic stills under his hands, and makes a questioning sound in the back of his throat. "What?" he says, and pushes away, his eyes flicking between two Tarrants, clothed and unclothed. "What the hell?"

Chessur grins, and sees the moment his eyes give him away. Ilosovic's face darkens, and he swings back a hand. As it whips towards him, Chessur is reminded how very dangerous the Knave can be.

"Don't," from the doorway, and Ilosovic checks his blow, eyes flashing up. Chessur can't help himself, even now. He turns to the man he is mirroring, grin too wide for his face.

"Sorry, Tarrant, but I'm sure you can understand why I had to have a taste for myself." He glances over his shoulder at the pale figure. "I'm almost jealous. He's delicious," and those white cheeks are heating.

"Really, Chess," Tarrant murmurs, pulling off his coat as he steps forward. His eyes are full of mischief, and Chessur wonders if he might have gotten in over his head. "All you had to do was ask."

And now he's blushing, and he hides it the best way he can, fading into nothing but grin and eyes, and reappearing all pale skin and long bones and knife angles. Tarrant grins, almost a match for his own. "Two of you," he says, Ilosovic watching his double with narrowed eyes. "The fun I could have," Tarrant whispers, one pink tinged hand on each chest.

Ilosovic leans down to take Tarrant's mouth, and Chessur focuses his attention on the disturbing number of clothes still on Tarrant. They break the kiss, all wet reddened lips and panting breaths, and Chessur darts in for his own taste of Tarrant. It's anise and ginger and madness, and he can still taste the traces of Ilosovic's smoke and grass and danger lingering behind Tarrant's teeth.

Ilosovic scrapes teeth against the back of his neck, and Chessur shudders against Tarrant, caught between them. Tarrant still has too many clothes; Chessur makes it his goal to dispose of them, a goal Ilosovic seems only to happy to help achieve.

They tumble into the already rumpled bed, a tangle of limbs and hands and leaking cocks, and Stayne presses his lips to the same tender spot his teeth have marked and whispers against Chessur's skin, "Change."

Chessur's breath hitches in his throat, but he blurs, settling back into a flame haired madman, and the madman beside him laughs. "Oh, that's clever," Tarrant tells Ilosovic, and Chessur can feel his lips curve up against his spine. Tarrant doesn't seem bothered by the impossibilities of kissing himself, of trailing greedy hands down a torso identical to his own, of curling fingers and lips around a cock that matches his, down to the last purpled vein. But then, he is mad after all. Chessur groans, head falling back against Ilosovic's shoulder, and Ilosovic covers Chessur's mouth with his own, swallowing the sounds Tarrent pulls from him. Tarrant draws away, leaving his cock cooling in the air, and brushes lips across his hip bone. "Change."

Chessur is distracted for a moment, and then sighs, melting back against Ilosovic as he elongates, hair darkening and bones pressing sharply against skin. Ilosovic runs a trembling hand down Chessur's chest, counting the ribs, and runs a trail of liquid fire up the curve of his ear. Tarrant's clever fingers are tracing circles behind his balls, teasing the sensitive skin, and Chessur arches, arms coming back to balance him between Ilosovic's boney shoulder and Tarrant's hungry mouth. "Change," one of them whispers, and he can't even keep track of who is speaking. He shifts.

He is Tarrant, and Tarrant is opening him up, sliding slick fingers into him, and "Change," he is Ilosovic, and Ilosovic is pressing forward, spreading his thighs, and "Change," he is a madman again, head spinning with sensual pleasure, and "Change," he is a demon in human form again, gasping out words without meaning, and "Change," he can't be sure who he is, everything rising together to overwhelm his senses, and he flickers between them, form refusing to settle as he cries out and comes, Ilosovic's teeth marking his shoulder, Tarrant's throat working around his cock.

His eyes open to the appealing sight of Tarrant thrusting mindlessly against Ilosovic's hands, and reaches out to slide a finger down the taunt line of Tarrant's jaw. Tarrant's eyes close as he moans, low and harsh, and comes, staining all three of them with milky droplets. Tarrant collapses, boneless, against Ilosovic, who tips them both over to lie against Chessur.

"Well," Chessur says. "I shall have to start asking more often."


End file.
